Until Her Soldiers Come Home
by SongOnTheBreeze
Summary: Because no matter how much it hurt her, she would always wait for her to soldiers to come home. / Drabble written in 15 minutes out of boredom. VERY short. PLEASE R and R.


Yoshino and the rest of the Naras are my favorite characters, and how they interact with one another makes me think of my own ( slightly insane XD ) family. So, here's a nice little family oneshot for you, written from Yoshino's POV. It's set during the preparations for the Ninja World War. It's a little awkward, since I wrote it in, say, 15 minutes.

Disclamer: Masashi Kishimoto is the mastermind behind Naruto. You'd have to be very stupid to confuse me with a Japanese man that writes and draws manga for a living.

Enjoy, and please review.

* * *

Yoshino had never been the type to cry over things. In fact, she was pretty sure she had never cried in her life, except for infant years. She found it to be an extreme waste of time. Why spend your time crying when there were so many better thing you could do with that time?

So why was it that now, right when she needed to be stronger that she'd ever been in her life, the tears rolled hot and fast down her cheeks? Why was it, that after seeing her boys go out on countless missions for years, many of which were dangerous beyond description, that her heart ached for them and she felt as if it would split in two? And why was it that she clasped the photograph of herself, Shikaku and Shikamaru standing out in the bright summer sun, happy and smiling, in her hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world?

She couldn't explain it. It was so silly, so unlike her, to be so emotional over things.

And yet, here she sat, on her son's bed, crying her eyes out, just like she did every afternoon that her boys were out helping the other ninja of Konoha plan their battle maneuvers.

It's not like they would never be back. They were just planning things. And, even when the first battles did fall, they wouldn't be on the front lines...

That thought only made the wrenching in her heart worsen. That was just the problem, wasn't it? Knowing her boys, they'd both want to be out on the front, helping their fellow ninja, thinking up battle strategies and making split second decisions. They wouldn't give any thought to their own safety, just the other soldiers.

Soldiers...

A word she hoped she'd never have to hear in relation to a Konoha shinobi ever again. She had been there, of course, all those years ago. She remembered those dark days during the last Great Ninja War. She remembered huddling inside the hideout in Hokage Mountain, hugging a crying Shikamaru, then an infant, to her chest, watching wide-eyed as shinobi after shinobi, Konoha and beyond, filed in and out, bringing with them tales of triumph and tragedy, any of which her husband - and new father - could be in. She remembered the endless lonely nights she'd spent, waiting on Shikaku to get home, hoping, praying that he would be okay, and that the official-looking man dressed all in black wouldn't come to her door and give her word, in an emotionless voice, of a terrible battle and no survivors.

And, yet, those times were here again, and this time, for her, it was twice as worse. Twice as many worries on her mind. Twice as many horrid battles to hear about. Twice as many emotionless faces telling her things that she'd woke up screaming about for years.

Twice as many funerals to plan and attend...

She quickly swatted the thought away. Now wasn't the time to think about that. It would be awhile before the first attack was planned; they were just in the preparations, after all. And Shikaku and Shikamaru were smart men; they wouldn't go and get themselves killed. Yes, of course. Besides, she had better things to do.

She stood up off her son's bed, setting the picture gently down on the nightstand. Drying her eyes, she gave it one last longing smile before she turned and walked out the door of Shikamaru's room, closing it quietly behind her.

She would work for the rest of the day, burying herself in her house work. And, then, as the sun set, she would hear a knock at the door.

She would rush to answer it, and would find two men, dressed all in black...

The taller one with two scars stretched across his face would give her a small smile, while the shorter one, whose face had yet to show the signs of battle, would just give her a bored look.

And she would take them both in her arms, despite the smaller ones protests, and she would just hold them, thanking God that they were here, safe and sound, for at least one more evening.

And, then, in the morning, she would wake up early, make breakfast for them, nag one of them for not doing something that she asked them to do. She would yell at them to hurry, smile as they rushed around the house, completing their morning rituals.

And then she would stand at the door, give them each a kiss goodebye, wondering the whole time if it would be the last, and watch as they disappeared over the horizen, the sun making her squint her eyes.

And, in her heart, for the rest of the day, she would keep telling herself they would be home that evening, to take the place of the other man she feared so much.

Because, no matter what happened, no matter how much it hurt her to do so, she would always wait for her soldiers to come home.

* * *

Short, I know, but oh well. Please review.


End file.
